Chapter 3 #2
The tiny room beyond the door was barely big enough for me to stretch my arms out without touching the walls.
The wheel, the control dealie, and an open, empty accordion folder took up one end of the little cabin and, in the center of the room, was an open wooden trap door revealing a very steep set of stairs that could more accurately be termed a ladder.
Muffin padded into the cabin, whining, obviously not thrilled with the direction our outing had taken.
“Sit down, doggo,” I urged firmly, fishing a treat out of my jacket pocket.
“Don’t tell Ben I slipped you an extra one.
He’ll take the vet’s side about that whole diet thing they were threatening you with. ”
Muffin took the treat but I had the feeling it was grudging. He just held it between his teeth as I crouched down to peer into the lower level. The lights were on there, too, and it was just as quiet as the cabin. “Tubbs, you better be decent.”
The ladder led to the galley, a narrow space with a red silk rug over the thin carpet and benches padded in eggshell colored fabric.
It had the air of a place meant to look lush and expensive but missing by just a hair.
The rug was faded, the upholstery a little grubby on second glance, and the wooden fittings were laminate with the corners were peeling up in a few places along the padded benches.
A plate of pasta and overcooked broccoli sat in front of one of those dorm room sized air fryer-microwave combos beside an open box of crackers and some drying cheese slices on the narrow countertop lining one wall.
A bit further in, two tumblers sat on the small table barely bigger than a shoebox.
One of the smells that’d been tugging at my senses untangled itself from the mash of cove and boat and town—scotch.
A lot of it. The bottle was on its side, the liquid soaking into the thin carpet beside the table.
The boat gave a desultory bob in the water, making the bottle roll to one side.
Something skittered out from beneath the bench seat and I yelped, setting Muffin off in a flurry of barks and yelps of his own, worry making him loud.
The thing I’d taken for a bug was a flash drive, one of those you can get in bulk at a big box store and barely holds anything, great if you just need to save one or two things and don’t care if you lose it later.
This one was purple and, on one flat side, had Beth’s story written in permanent marker.
I sat back on my heels, flipping the flash drive over as if I could somehow read it with my naked eyes. “Hush, Muffin,” I called, distracted. “I’ll be up in a sec.”
He didn’t stop. If anything, he got louder.
I barely noticed, though—maybe it was PTSD from the whole Renee Rhoades situation, maybe it was just my own healthy sense of self-preservation (What?
I have one!), but something was off. Rising slowly, I glanced around the galley, unease creeping down my spine.
A wooden door opened off the end of the galley closest to me, a very narrow hall lacking any attempt at charm leading to three doors and a sort of rack contraption at the far end—clothes storage, it looked like, since a few bright yellow pieces of rain gear dangled from the crossbeams, and sopping wet pair of men’s socks flopped from the top like tired tongues.
One door opened to a very small bathroom with what could optimistically be called a shower, though it’d be a squeeze even for someone as skinny as me.
The next door led to storage. I think it must’ve been a bedroom at one time but now it was full of coils of rope, folded fabric I guessed were sails, and opaque plastic tubs with lids taped down.
That left one door. And if Tubbs was napping away the evening in there, I was going to be so freaking annoyed.
And I said as much aloud as I rapped on the door with my knuckles.
Someone was shouting above-deck, telling Muffin to shut up, and Muffin had gone from frantic barks to high-pitched whines. Still, I couldn’t not check, could I?
Because if Tubbs had ghosted me, I wanted to know. Like one hundred percent sure know. My next stop, I decided, was going to be the inn since that’s where they were staying, him and the ladies and Nate. One more quick rap on the door and I pushed it open.
At first, the room was dark. Dark and chilly, much cooler than the weather should warrant.
It took a moment for me to realize the soft hum I was hearing wasn’t my nervous pulse but rather a desk fan set to high, aimed straight at the bed that took up most of the room space.
My eyes adjusted to the low light after just a few seconds and I could make out another laptop on the tiny desk beside the fan, this one closed and apparently off—there was no little light indicating charging or even power.
“Shit,” I muttered, flipping the USB drive over and over between my fingers.
“He just blew me off, didn’t he?” I took a half-step into the room, pivoting to turn and leave, when something caught my eye.
The wavy mirror beside the door, a cheap and warped thing that should’ve been in some recycle bin somewhere, showed me a pale lump just past the bed at an angle I couldn’t really see from the door but the mirror picked up thanks to its undulating surface.
At first, I thought it was clothes. Tubbs just leaving his shit for someone else to pick up was pretty on-brand, to be honest.
But clothes didn’t have hair.
Clothes didn’t have an arm with fingers curled like that...
“Oh no,” I breathed. “Not again...”